Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Having
written poetry for the past few months I have been reflecting on my philosophy
of writing. Why do I write?

At its
simplest level, I write to reclaim my voice.
After years of speaking in the voice of others I seek to re-claim my own
voice. What do I mean “speaking in the
voice of others”. Some of you will have
picked up I was a minister of religion.
Theoretically ministers speak the voice of God. They speak of certainty and faith; of hope
and of love. They do not speak of their
fears, their doubts and loneliness. After
the church I worked with men who had alcohol/drug and mental health issue. I listened, I nodded, I made suggestions for
counsellors do not speak their frustrations and annoyance with their clients. Finally, free of both roles I write to
rediscover my own voice.

The
ordinary voice of an ordinary man who has grown tired to talking for
others. At this level writing is both a
selfish and a therapeutic act. It is
selfish because it is about me. It is an
act of egotism to write, post what is written and think it will be read. It is selfish because the more I discover my
voice the more I realise I don’t really care for that part of me that was the
“good minister” or the “good listener”.

Yet it is
also a therapeutic act, an act of self-healing, for slowly each time I write I
gain the confidence to be more authentically myself and step out from behind
the walls I have erected to hide behind.
If philosophy is the love and pursuit of wisdom then surely it is wise
to live unburdened by defences that keep us/me alienated and isolated from
others.

Hence the
process of writing helps me learn my own voice.
Yet it is more than this. We have
all been in meetings where we have listened to a speaker who has found his or
her voice; a voice which is monotone, droning and without intonation. So it is with poetry, it is not just finding
my voice it is finding the cadences with my voice. Cadence has to do with modulation, with
intonation. In terms of writing it is the
ability to modulate tone. To write
lightly, “the gossamer sheen of dragonfly wings translucent in morning glory’s
light”. To write with anger – both hot
and cold anger; to write with erotic sensitivity, “his voice hung in the
auricle of my ear before deep tones slid in and body responded before my
mind”. I need to learn the modulations
of my voice and this takes time and patience.
Often we write when we are too close to situations, particularly when
they are painful emotions. While it can
be satisfying to do this, we often write with one intonation – rage, or pain. We are like a dog with its’ leg caught in a
trap continually gnawing to escape pain.
It takes discipline to sit and trust that life and time will give us
space and in that space we/I will learn different cadences. Do I have this time and patience? Sometimes, sometimes not. Sometimes I force myself to write and post as
an act of courage rather than waiting for cadence.

Writing is
a daily act of courage for me. I
mentioned above about stepping out from behind the walls I have erected over
the years to protect myself. It is true
that what once protects us, ultimately will become our prison if we do not
dismantle the walls and protective boundaries.
Yet courage is not just stepping out after years of pretending to be
something and someone else to say this is who I am. It is also the courage to question the status
quo.

Perhaps
this is the most important role of true poet (and I am not including myself in
this category). It is the ability to
call into question the accepted truths with the simplicity and beauty of
poetry. It is the ability to make people
question. For example, to realise that
initially intimacy is not something between people. Intimacy must start within ourselves before
we can be intimate with others. Love is
not just about rainbows and sunsets and warm touches. Love is a hard task master that if we allow
strips away our pretences and our selfishness and may then re-build us. To realise that spiritual enlightenment is
not something we should be seeking, rather we should be discovering the depths
of our humanity.

Yes, I am
vain and egoistical enough to dream that one day when I am much older I will be
able to write poetry like that. In the
meantime I am grateful for the opportunity to re-discover my voice and my
cadence and take a little step of courage each day.

I walk to and from
work. It is a distance of about 6.5kms
each way. There is something wonderfully
therapeutic just walking, looking around, watching the clouds, being in the moment!

This morning I set off
and started walking down Beaufort St. I
became aware of two women walking behind me.
It was their voices I heard, chatting away. Soon they had overtaken me.

They were both of smallish statute – petite
would sound better and both carried two bags each. Now I’m tall so have a
fairly long stride when I walk. These
women were clocking up some speed because they passed me by, four bags between
them and two tongues talking non-stop.
We came to the first set of lights where I caught up with them. They stood waiting for the lights to change
and kept talking.

The lights changed,
they were off and racing again. I tried
to keep up with them but had no chance.
Off down Beaufort St, bags swinging tongues still talking till the next
set of lights. Repeat performance.

Do you know, those two
women carrying 4 bags between them talked non-stop for 6.5kms into the
city! Not only is that a feat, they
managed to walk faster than I ever could, they didn’t draw a sweat – sorry
women don’t sweat, the glow! They didn’t
draw a glow nor were they breathless!

I was amazed! I was knackered just from watching them! The ability to walk fast and talk even faster
for 6.5kms is remarkable.

It did get me thinking
for any not-for-profit organisation that needs a new fund raising idea, instead
of doing fun runs and pooch walks perhaps they could do “walk and talks”. Women could be sponsored for walking and
talking.

Faded
________________________
Walking home after the previous poem on walking on a cold morning there was the most glorious sunset. The sun peaking through and drenching the cold grey clouds with light and colour. This poem is an attempt to capture the beauty and colour of nature

Years ago, in another
life, I was accepted into the Anglican Priesthood. An acceptance I rejected, but that is another
story! I asked why Priests wore robes
and was told it was to hide the personality of the priest and allow the Divine to
shine through. This work is a reflection
of that comment.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

While it is true we write
poetry for the sheer enjoyment of expression, and the delight of crafting words
that resonate with our experience, it is also true that poetry has other reasons,
other purposes.

A poet writes of the
irony of life. The irony of loneliness
in love; the irony of beauty in ugliness, the irony of tears that may be tears
of joy or sadness. We need to be
reminded of irony lest we take life too seriously and forget to smile and to
laugh. Poetry helps us to remember to
smile.

A poet points beyond
the appearance of things, not to what is for who know what is? The love we think we have, may in hindsight
simply be hormonal infatuation. The
anger we hold within may mellow to something more compassionate with time and
understanding. Our enemies may turn into
friends and friends into enemies – who knows?

The poet points
to what may be. We point to a shaft of
light that may grace us with a different perspective. For we write, not so much for the
reader as for ourselves the writer. We write to give
ourselves perspective, to shine a shaft of light onto our pain, to brighten our
happiness; to enhance the beauty we see and feel.

Then having written, we cast it out there
into the public arena. We set it free,
to point to what may be.

In freeing our words, we
also allow ourselves to grow in courage.
The courage to own our experience, the courage to move beyond our
experience, the courage to say “I felt this but I am not this”. For our words may describe us, yet they
cannot define us, for what points cannot be the thing it points to.

Poetry helps us smile
and laugh, it points to what may be and gifts us with the grace of courage.